Tiger By The Tail

"I played billiards with him from time to time," Sweeting said. "Yes, I guess I knew him well, but I haven't seen or heard from him since he was put in that home. What makes you think he did it?"

"I don't think he did it now. I said I liked him for the job, but I've changed my mind. He threatened to kill her before he went into the home, and that made me think maybe he'd done it."

"He wouldn't kill her," Sweeting said. "He was through with her. I know. He told me. She meant nothing to him after he had beaten her up."

"Okay. Do you think Holland did it?"

Sweeting hesitated. He wanted to get Ken Holland into trouble if he could, but he decided Adams might not like him to side-track him because of his own private hate.

"I guess not. Why have you changed your mind about Johnny, Lieutenant?"

"I don't reckon he could have done it. Holland saw him out-outside the Blue Rose. He didn't know Carson's address. He couldn't have got there and hid in her bedroom before they returned, could he?"

Sweeting inclined his head.

"Maybe you're right."

"I think I am. Okay, if it wasn't Johnny and it wasn't Holland who was it?"

Sweeting blinked.

"Are you asking me?"

"I'm asking you, Raphael. You spend all your life sticking your snout into other people's affairs. Don't tell me you didn't stick it into Carson's affairs as well."

Sweeting hesitated.

"Well, I'd like to help you, Lieutenant, but I don't know."

"Have a guess," Adams said quietly.

Sweeting again hesitated.

"If I were you," he said slowly, "I'd talk to Maurice Yarde. He might have a few ideas."

"Who's he?"

"He used to be Fay's dancing partner before they quarrelled."

"What did they quarrel about?"

"She and Gilda Dorman used to share an apartment. Yarde fell for Gilda. He broke up the act and Gilda and he went to Los Angeles. She came back after six months alone. Yarde came back a couple of days ago. He came to see Fay. I happened to see him. They had a quarrel. I heard her cursing him. When he left I heard him tell her he would cut her throat."

Adams removed his hat and ran his fingers through his thick white hair.

"You're sure Gilda went away with Yarde?"

Sweeting nodded.

"Johnny told me. He hated the idea. Yarde's a bad man, Lieutenant: a bad man with women."

Adams scratched the side of his jaw. This set-up was getting complicated. He would have preferred to tie Johnny to the murder, but if he couldn't do that, Yarde would do nearly as well. In both cases Gilda was hooked up to it, and that meant O'Brien was hooked up in it too.

"Where do I find Yarde ?" he asked.

"He usually hangs out at the Washington Hotel. He could be there, Lieutenant."

Adams got slowly and stiffly to his feet. This was turning out to be a hell of a night.

"Okay, Raphael. Keep your mouth shut and your legs crossed. Stick right here and don't try to leave town. I may need you for a witness. Play along with me and you won't get into trouble."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Sweeting said, and for the first time since Adams had been in the apartment, he began to breathe freely.

As Adams moved to the door, Sweeting went on, "Excuse me, Lieutenant, but you wouldn't happen to have a spare buck on you? I have my rent to meet tomorrow and I find myself a little short."

Adams opened the door and went slowly down the stairs as if he hadn't heard his head bent, his brow furrowed in thought.

Sweeting leaned over the banister rail but resisted the temptation of spitting on the Lieutenant's hat. He returned to his room and slammed the

door.

He had to raise some money before tomorrow. For a long time he stood thinking, then his face brightened. Of course! Gilda Dorman! He should have thought of her before. She might part with a few bucks if he called on her. She would probably be interested to know her old lover, Maurice Yarde, was in town. She might be still sentimental about him. She might also be interested to know that Lieutenant Adams thought her brother had killed Fay. The possibilities were endless!

Sweeting glanced at the clock on the overmantel. It was a quarter past eleven. These nightclub singers kept late hours. He might catch her if he hurried.

He went over to the pile of directories, flicked through the pages of one of them and found what he wanted.

"45 Maddox Court," he muttered. "That's only five minutes from here."

He took his hat from the cupboard, placed it at an angle on his head so as to hide his bruised eye, picked up Leo, turned off the lights and hurriedly left his apartment.

III

The Washington Hotel had an unsavoury reputation. It was a-room-bythe-hour-and-no-questions-asked joint, sandwiched between an amusement arcade and a beer shop, facing the river. In its basement, hidden away behind a cleverly constructed sliding panel, was a big room where you could enjoy a pipe of opium if you wanted it and if you could pay for it.